


dive for the stars beneath the sea

by lady_peony



Category: K (Anime)
Genre: Fix-It, M/M, Post Season 1
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 11:37:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/798319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lady_peony/pseuds/lady_peony
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He is terrified of forgetting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	dive for the stars beneath the sea

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to only take like a month to finish and then it sort of spiraled out of control.  
> Dedicated to the lovely [sulfatetocopper](http://sulfatetocopper.tumblr.com), who remains partially responsible for getting me into the show in the first place.

I'll keep my word, Kuroh thinks, I'll keep my word. He pushes his hands deeper in his pockets against the cold wind, feels the outline of his recorder inside his right pocket. Neko shivers on his shoulder, tail curled around his neck.

He remembers the taste of burnt rice.

 

 

 

Kuroh is glad to have Neko with him. Her insistence in Shiro's survival makes it easier for him to hope.

Most of these days, Neko prefers to travel by in her cat-form, scampering by his side or perched on his shoulder. Sometimes she curls up on Kuroh's chest when they sleep, a comforting anchor to reality.

There are moments when he wakes, and thinks, _I'm chasing after nothing but a ghost._

But then his fingers would brush against Neko's fur as she slept next to his head, touch the handle of Shiro's parasol besides him, and his doubts would dissipate like mist.

He is terrified of forgetting. Before he sleeps, Kuroh goes over every memory of his days with his King, the fights, the meals, the tilt of Shiro's head when he asked Kuroh a question, the feel of his fingers grasping Kuroh's hand.

He trusts his sword to protect them, Neko to help him. He trusts his King-the Silver King--Weismann--he trusts Shiro.

"Wait, wait, wait!" the boy says, both hands held out in front of him placatingly. "Can't we talk--" His words are cut off in a choked scream, and Kuroh looks down to see red spilling over his hands.

Shiro's body falls into his arms, Kotowari buried up to the hilt through Shiro's heart.

Kuroh wakes up those nights feeling his own heart trying to shudder out of his skin, hears Neko mewing worriedly and circling around him. He always makes an attempt to soothe himself with meditation, but his hands can never seem to stop shaking.

 

 

 

"Kuroh?" Neko says. She claimed that as a human, "Food was yummier for Neko!". She was wearing a loose yellow dress that was fairly clean, save for the mud staining its hem.

Kuroh tapped the spoon in his right hand against his makeshift bowl, calculating how much longer they could travel with the food they had on them before they needed to stop in another city. They had been travelling so far for a few months now. Was it three? Four? With their current supplies, they could travel for another three days. Maybe five, if he went with less.

"Kuroooohhh!" Neko repeated, this time with the tail-end of a hiss on the last syllable.

"What is it?" Kuroh says, his mind still lingering on the figures in his head.

"Neko is still hungry!" she says and reaches out one hand to the ladle resting in the pot. Wisps of steam still curled off the top of the stew, although the fire below it had already dwindled to a few flickering flames.

Kuroh's hand shot out to grab Neko's wrist.

Neko looks at him with surprise, and says, more uncertainly this time, "Kuroh?"

Kuroh tries to move his fingers, but he can't. He _can't_. "That's for...the rest of that is for..."

"I'm sorry, Neko," Kuroh says, as he loosened his fingers and let his hand fall away. "Did I hurt you?"

Neko glances at her wrist, and shakes her head. "No." She ladles the rest of the stew into her bowl and laps it up, before placing the bowl down next to the fire. With a puff of smoke, she shrank back to her cat form and pads up to Kuroh's side before curling up to sleep.

Kuroh leans back, and looked up at the stars, glinting brightly in the velvet blue of the sky. They were almost too bright to look at.

He presses a hand over his eyes.

Three months have already come and gone. Kuroh wonders if he is going mad.

 

 

 

Eventually they find him. Their King wakes.  
It's that simple.

 

 

 

"Weismann," Kuroh says, bending to one knee.

He senses his King standing in front of him, probably smiling like he always did. Neko paces as a cat behind Kuroh's back, uncharacteristically hesitant.

From where his head is bowed, Kuroh can see the tips of spotless shoes, the ends of silver hair which barely kiss the ground.

"Kuroh," his King says. His voice is deeper but still hides the lilt of a smile in its tone. "Neko." Kuroh hears his King take two steps forward, the sound of his shoes echoing in--not his burial chamber--his holding room. "I'm glad to see you."

There is a sudden glow, like a flash of moonlight and lightning, burning so brightly that Kuroh has to close eyes.

As the spots fade away from Kuroh's vision, he sees a different face in front of him.

Not Weismann. This one is softer, younger, and achingly familiar.

Neko leaps on Shiro's back, in her human form to hug him, happily shrieking his name over and over. He laughs and hugs her back until she steps away and shifts again to her cat form to circle around his ankles excitedly.

Kuroh stays frozen, tries to blink away the burning sensation in his eyes.

"Kuroh," the voice is teasing, "didn't I tell you before? You can call me Shiro."

"My King," is all Kuroh can say in response.

Shiro sighs. "You're still the same as always, Kuroh."

His hand is open in front of Kuroh's bowed head.

Kuroh takes it.

 

 

 

"I told Daikakku-san we didn't need so much space, but it'll be a nice change from sleeping in a dorm," Shiro says, walking up to a window over the kitchen and opening it. "We have a nice view from here!"

"Hmm," is all Kuroh says in response.

The apartment they are in is impressive--three bedrooms, a sitting area, a kitchen, two bathrooms. Neko runs through the sitting room, through all the bedrooms, excited to explore. Shiro is walking around, alive alive alive, opening shelves and testing the water of the water faucets.

Kuroh takes a breath, turns away from the sight of Shiro in his black coat to look over their surroundings for possible weaknesses. So far, the place looks easily defensible between the three of them.

It had been cold in the chopper and the only clothes available in the facility where the Gold King had secured the Silver King's body were meant for a taller personage than Shiro. It was only natural for Kuroh to offer his coat to Shiro.

Kuroh opens a few cupboards in the kitchen, looking for utensils. He opens the fridge, which was already conveniently stocked. Cabbage, carrots, potatoes, onions, apples; Kuroh put aside the vegetables next to the sink, rolled up is sleeves, and started washing them. He would cook curry tonight.

After he chops the vegetables, Kuroh moves away from the sink to look for spices in the cabinets.

To his surprise, he feels the weight of a few seasoning shakers placed into his hand a second later.

"I can help," Shiro said, his hand dropping away from Kuroh's. "I think I can handle the rice at least."

"You should wear an apron," Kuroh said, moving the seasonings to a kitchen counter.

"But that look suits you so much better, Kuroh," Shiro replies.

Kuroh sweeps all the vegetables into the pot and does not respond.  
He ends up cooking twenty servings of curry. He and Neko eat about four helpings each, while Shiro never seems to stop refilling his plate.

"Kuroh?"

"Is it too spicy?" Kuroh says. He draws his spoon across a leftover puddle of curry on his plate, streaking a trail across its surface before he scrapes it up.

"No," Shiro says, voice soft. "I'm just happy to be here eating this with you two."

"Silly Shiro!" Neko says, bumping up against Shiro's side. "Neko missed Shiro a lot. And Kuroh did too!"

Shiro lowers his spoon from his mouth to his plate, and looks from Neko to Kuroh. "I'm glad you two found me," he says.

Kuroh listens to Neko talk to Shiro for the rest of the meal and says nothing.

"I'm starting the dishes," is the only thing Kuroh says to break his silence. He takes Neko's bowl and Shiro's plate from their hands, although Neko holds onto her bowl in a moment of mock-protest.

Kuroh's fingers brush against Shiro's fingertips once, whisper-light, as Shiro smiles at him.

 

 

 

It's fine. He's fine now.

Kuroh glances at the clock next to him. He hasn't slept for three hours.

He rolls off his bed, careful not to disturb Neko, who had climbed onto his pillow sometime in the night. When Kuroh complained about there not being enough space, shifted into her cat-shape. "Neko wanted to be with Shiro and Kuroh," she had said, "but Shiro locked his door."

Kuroh had listened for a while, but as he didn't hear any sounds of distress from Shiro's room, had assumed that Shiro was just probably used to sleeping alone after all that time.

Still, something made Kuroh walk down the hall, Kotowari buckled at his side.

Upon reaching Shiro's door, Kuroh stops.

He should just go back to his room. Shiro was a King still, his King. He was only in danger from other Kings.

But Kuroh wanted to be sure.

Kuroh slides to the floor to sit down against the door, places his sword across his lap, and waits for morning.

 

 

 

Having to visit the other Kings irritates Kuroh. That might or might not have to do with the fact that the last time they encountered any of them, they had been trying to kill, or at least had threatened to injure Shiro.

"It's my responsibility," Shiro explained in the morning. "I have to make sure everyone is doing all right. And I have you two to look after me." Shiro says. "There's nothing to worry about."

"Fine," Kuroh says, because there is nothing else he can say.

The visit to HOMRA had been surprisingly bloodless. Kuroh stood on Shiro's right, matched the glares of several Red Clansmen with his own. He kept one hand on Kotogawi's hilt the whole time.

Neko on the other hand, had a grand time with the bottle of milk Izumo had been kind enough to offer. After finishing it, she immediately engaged in a staring contest with a blonde girl in the corner of HOMRA's headquarters--Annie? Anna?--whom Kuroh vaguely recognized as one of the clansmen who had always been seen tagging behind the last Red King.

Kuroh was mildly surprised when most of the Red Clansmen kept a safe distance away from Shiro.

Whether this was due to his own presence, or Shiro's disarmingly pleasant smile, Kuroh didn't know. It wasn't until Shiro smiled once more, shook Izumo's hand and got up to walk to the door with Kuroh and Neko behind him, that Kuroh heard the muttering of whispered comments start up from their audience.

"That's the Silver King", "not actually human", "...heard he's stronger than ten Kings combined", following their progress out the door.

As the tinkling of the bells on HOMRA's door died away with the whispers, Shiro turned to Kuroh and Neko and said, "We should hurry to visit some of the other Clans before the rest of the day is over. Have you practiced using the Silver Aura after I...since I last saw you?"

"Neko did! But Kuroh said it was more dangerous to travel like that, so we didn't fly." Neko replies.

"Are you sure you must visit them all today?" Kuroh says.

Shiro looks paler than Kuroh ever remembered seeing him, although that might just be due to his recent revival.

"There's just one more visit left for today," Shiro says.

Kuroh opens his nouth to say something else, to protest but he can't find a good reason for them all to return to the house at that exact moment.

"I can do it," Shiro says. "It won't take long."

Kuroh frowns, but when Shiro offers his hand again, saying, "I don't want you or Neko to get lost", Kuroh reaches out and holds on as they float up into the sky.

 

 

 

As soon as the three of them land, the alarms start. Neko hisses at the noise and Kuroh already has one hand on Kotogawi, the other held up ready to ward off any attacks.

"I suppose they might have taken it better if we had come through the front door," Shiro says as team of Blue Clansmen burst onto the roof. "I'm sure they'll calm down once I explain things." Shiro's expression entirely at ease.

"Between HOMRA and SCEPTER 4, SCEPTER 4 is far more dangerous," Kuroh says, stepping in front of Shiro. His eyes sweep around the circle of blue uniforms approaching them. "They don't bare their teeth when they're angry."

"Stand down, Team Delta!", a voice commands from behind the circle. "The Captain has designated this group as honored visitors."

The circle of Blue Clansmen part as Awashima Seri marches through and stops in front of Kuroh.

"Black Dog," she says, then, looking past him, added, "First King and Clansman, please follow me."

"It's nice to see you again, Awashima-san," offers Shiro.

The lieutenant glances back at Shiro, but does not respond. The group winds through ten, fifteen twisting corridors, each just as indistinguishable as the last.

She stops at an unmarked door, and nodded at Shiro. "He's expecting you," she says.

Neko and Kuroh made motions to follow him, but Awagashimi steps in front of them. Shiro, with one hand on the door, looks back, eyebrows furrowed.

"Apologies, First King," Awashima says, head bowed. "But the Captain made it clear that he wished to have a private discussion with you."

"We're his Clansmen," Kuroh says, voice cool.

"We don't want to leave Shiro!" Neko chimes in.

Shiro looked at Awashima, who shakes her head with an almost apologetic air.

"I'll be all right," Shiro says. He walks forward and gives a reassuring pat to Neko on the head, and looks at Kuroh. "Kuroh. I just need you to wait here for a little while with Neko."

Kuroh feels the protest swell under his tongue, lunging towards open air. Somehow, he manages to swallow it down.

When the door smoothly swished shut in front of them, and Awashima had walked away, Kuroh took up a position against it, keeping both his ears open for any signs of a disturbance. Worryingly,the walls of the Blue King's office seemed to be almost entirely soundproofed.

However, with Kuroh's ears, he could hear Shiro's breathing steadily, easily, and the vague murmurs of conversation between the two Kings.

On his left, Neko tries to stand straight in imitation of Kuroh's pose. Within two minutes, she had given up standing still and darts off from one end of the corridor to the other, almost colliding with three SCEPTER 4 officers before she flopped onto the ground next to Kuroh, yawned, and fell asleep.

Kuroh pulls Neko up until she was sitting against the wall, snoring softly.  
He stands, his back to the wall and ran through a list of possible training exercises he could do in combination with his Silver Aura powers in his mind.

It set him on the edge to be here. The last time they had met, he had been laughably outmatched by the Blue King's power. Kuroh had resigned himself to his own death, welcomed the first biting sting of the blade on his throat.

Shiro had been safe. Kuroh's life was a fair price.

"Kuroh?"

Kuroh looks up, and lets out a breath when he sees Shiro in front of him, entirely unharmed.

"Are we going back now?" Neko asks, springing up from her spot on the floor to cling to Shiro's shoulder. Shiro staggers a bit before he wriggles out from under Neko's arms.

"Sorry Neko, I'm afraid we still have to wait a bit longer." Shiro turns to Kuroh, his face serious. "Munakata-san wants to speak with you."

 

 

 

"Yatogami-san," the Blue King says, an opening volley.

Kuroh inclines his head in acknowledgement.

"Take a seat, if you like," the Blue King continues. It was worded as a suggestion, but there was a shadow of a command behind it.

Kuroh moves to one of the two chairs in front of the Blue King's desk, and sits down after leaning Kotowari against the side of his chair, keeping it within easy reach.

The office whispers discreet opulence from every corner, from the plush carpet beneath him to the fine sheen of the Blue King's mahogany desk. The luxury of the room is reined in with a palpable air of discipline--the papers on the desk are all organized in clear distinguishable stacks, their lines ruler-straight.

The windows are spotless and brightly glinting, like the silver buttons on the Blue King's cuffs, the rims of his glasses. Save for the strange-looking necklace around Munakata's neck, partially tucked in under the blue collar of his jacket--everything gleams.

Tea arrives with the entrance of a blue-coated Clansman, who sets it at Munakata's elbow and leaves without a word.

The Blue King straightens up, buttons up his coat until the necklace disappears from view, and adjusts his gloves a little before he reaches for a cup and sets it down in front of Kuroh. He leans back against his chair, his eyes glinting behind his glasses, his own cup in hand.

Kuroh waits. The one who speaks first learns the least about his opponents.

Finally, the Blue King clears his throat, and pushes aside his teacup from his hand to his elbow. "Yatogami-san," he says, stands, and bows his head half-an-inch. "I wish to offer my apologies for the encounter you had with SCEPTER 4 last year at the stadium. Personally, as the head of SCEPTER 4, I would like to reassure you that we deeply regret any injuries which may have occurred upon your person."

Kuroh stares. Munakata looks back at him calmly.

"If I am understanding this correctly," Kuroh says, "did you just--?"

"Do not ask me to repeat it, Yatogami-san," the Blue King says. He sits down and pushes back his glasses with one hand. "I have said my piece. If you will excuse me, there are other duties which require my immediate attention."

Kuroh waits, but when Munakata says nothing else, he reaches for Kotowari and heads to the door.

Just as he reaches the doorway he hears Munakata Reisi murmur, "A pity the Silver King claimed you first. SCEPTER 4 could have used someone with your abilities."

Kuroh stops, half-turns towards the Blue King.  
"I am proud to be counted among the Silver King's Clansmen," Kuroh finally says, voice even. "Good day to you."

"Farewell, Black Dog." Munakata smiles, but the expression is indecipherable. "It seems you have found your answer to the question from that day."

Kuroh turns around and steps out the door.

 

 

 

Tonight's dream had been different, although its effect was just as terrifying. Shiro had been standing the building roof where they had first met, until he fell, his eyes wide with fear. Kuroh had immediately hurtled himself after him, but Shiro's body had disappeared once Kuroh had landed.

At least these nights, when he wakes from his dreams, both hands clenched tightly enough around Kotowari to mark his palms red, he knows how to calm himself.

The sound of his King's breathing, solid and anchor-steady, is enough. Kuroh always slips away from the door the moment he feels his heart ease from a frantic pounding to a more relaxed pace.

Sometimes Neko strolled sleepily out of her room to curl up next to Kuroh's knee during these periods of panic.

Kuroh pushes back his hair from his forehead. A few drops of sweat from his hair cling to his fingertips as they come away from his head.

Kuroh can hear Neko's snoring in the other room two doors away. But if that was Neko then where...?

Kuroh stood still, breathes in, out.

He walks through the hallway to the front door.

Wind whistles through the slightest gap between the door and the archway.

Stepping outside, Kuroh immediately feels the chilly touch of rain creep beneath his collar, streaking down the curves of his face down his neck with an ice-cold touch.

The cold doesn't matter though, because the following anger that sweeps through him at the sight of Shiro standing in the rain, without protection of any kind against the elements, is heated enough.

"You have an umbrella," Kuroh says.

He doesn't know if Shiro can hear him.

"I can't see the stars," Shiro says, his head tilted up towards the clouds. His hair is slick with rainwater. "I used to see them every night below my feet, and now they're gone."

Kuroh walks closer. He reaches out one hand, hovers it over Shiro's shoulder before bringing it back to his hang uselessly at his side.

"They'll still be there tomorrow," Kuroh says, and making an effort to soften his tone, "Why don't you come back inside?"

"I was just thinking," Shiro says in a musing tone, almost as if Kuroh wasn't there. This frightens Kuroh in ways he doesn't understand. "I don't actually remember all the people I knew, back when they called me Adolf K. Weissman. I know their faces. I know their names. I don't know if they hated me. For the things I found. The things I did."

Shiro's expression makes something hitch in Kuroh's chest, tight and painful.

Don't leave, Kuroh thinks, the words fluttering against his mind like panicked birds, but he presses his lips together.

"I had an older sister once," Shiro continues. "She's been gone for a while now."

"I'm sorry," Kuroh blurts out, his words clumsy, splintering in the roar of the rain. He steps closer to Shiro until he can feel the press of Shiro's shoulder against his collarbone, the warmth of it in the rain. "It's cold right now. Let's go inside."

Kuroh lowers one hand to curve around the crook of Shiro's elbow and tugs lightly. To his relief, Shiro follows him without argument until the both of them stumble into the safety of the house.

Shiro doesn't speak while Kuroh fetches them a change of clothes, drapes a towel over Shiro's head, and fumbles around the kitchen to make two steaming cups of tea and shove one of them into Shiro's hand.

Kuroh forgets that he hasn't turned on the lights, not until he perches on the sofa in the sitting room next to Shiro.

Silence stretches across the room like a spider's thread.

Kuroh drinks his tea and watches Shiro sip his slowly, steam curling around the curve of his face, the tip of his nose. When Shiro finishes, he places his mug down on the table, stands.

Shiro walks a few steps away from Kuroh, until he pauses in the entrance of the hall, his hair glowing faintly in the dark.

"Sorry," Shiro says, voice low. "I didn't mean to worry you."

Kuroh watches Shiro's back until it disappears into the hall, the sound of his footsteps muffled by the carpet. The sound of Shiro's door closing clicks, slices sharply through the quiet.

Kuroh stands, picks up their two mugs from the table.

He feels like throwing one of them to the ground. He feels like breaking something.

Maybe it's Kuroh himself who's breaking, like pottery shattering in a kiln, scattering on ash, edges sharp enough to draw blood when touched.

 

 

The next morning comes and goes as usual, as does the next. Kuroh watches Shiro at every spare moment.

Shiro keeps barricading himself within columns of books he received from mysterious sources. Sometimes it would be a volume on some obscure branch of science which Kuroh had never heard of. Other times, it would be a thick history tome. Literature makes an occasional appearance.

Sometimes Kuroh brushes Neko's hair while Neko sits at the table with Shiro, bright-eyed and alert as she listens to Shiro reads passages out loud.

Shiro reads and phrases sometimes work their way into Kuroh's memory, like the music Shiro hums whenever he finds the time to tear himself away from his stacks of books to help Kuroh cook.

It feels like the yawning silence before a battle, the breathless pause between an arc of lightning breaking across the sky and the reply of thunder.

Kuroh walks around Shiro's stack of books, listens to Shiro read. He finds his eyes tracing the curve of Shiro's fingers cradled around their spines before he drops them back to the knife in his own hand, the thawed beef in front of him staining the board red.

 

 

 

Shiro doesn't scream.

Kuroh flexes his fingers over his sword hilt. Useless, useless. He can't fight something he can't see.

Behind the door at his back, Kuroh hears Shiro whispering phrases in a language he does not understand, names of people he does not know.

There are no screams. No whimpers. Nothing except for the firecracker bursts of words from Shiro's lips flaring and fading in the dark.

It has Kuroh curling his fingers into his knees, hard enough to bruise.

"Kuroh."

At the sound of his name, Kuroh stands sharply, almost stumbling as blood started flowing once again through his legs.

The doorknob is cold in his hands as he pushes it open.

Shiro is sitting with his back up to the wall, a blanket half-falling from one shoulder. His hair gleams faintly in the dark like a beacon.

"Kuroh?" Shiro says, a bit louder this time, "Is Neko-is she all right?"

"Neko is sleeping," Kuroh says, walking carefully, lightly towards Shiro. He stops at the edge of the bed. "She's all right," he repeats, though why he does so he's not sure.

"And you?" Shiro says.

"I am fine."

Shiro exhales.

"I think," Kuroh adds, not ungently, "I should be asking you that question."

Shiro's hands fist in his blankets. "Just bad dreams."

Kuroh stops at the edge of the bed, sits slowly onto the mattress next to Shiro. A wrinkle on the blanket is the only thing that separates their knees.

"I remember them," Shiro murmurs, eyes closed, "Sometimes I wish I didn't."

Kuroh sits and listens to Shiro breathe.

He was never good with words.

A minute passes. Two. Three. Kuroh makes a motion to get up from the bed with the vague idea to get Shiro a drink.

Before Kuroh's feet even touch the ground, he feels a circle of fingers around his wrist.

"Kuroh," Shiro says. The fingers tighten for a moment, then slowly peels away from his wrist. Kuroh feels a whisper of fingertips drifting away, brushing against his palm.

Kuroh turns, catches Shiro's hand in his own.

Shiro opens his eyes.

Kuroh laces their fingers together for the barest moment before letting go, and sits down again onto the bed besides Shiro. Kuroh can feel the warmth of Shiro's shoulder next to him.

"Lie down," Kuroh says. "You need rest."

"Rest?" Shiro says. "I've slept enough for several lifetimes."

Still, Kuroh feels Shiro relax next to him, all the tension seeping out of his body.

"You need sleep too," Shiro says, and slides down under the blanket, the line of Kuroh's body bending to accommodate him on the bed, their elbows brushing against the curves of each other's ribs, knees knocking into each other before smoothing out into parallel lines.

Kuroh slips into sleep with Shiro's pulse thrumming under his, wrist to wrist, his fingers entangled with Shiro's own.

The parallels shift, cross into points of intersection.

 

 

 

The next morning, Kuroh wakes to find his knees numb from Neko's weight across them, her front paws resting on Shiro's stomach. Kuroh slips out noiselessly from the bed, and after moving Neko to the space he left behind and pulling up the blankets higher over Shiro's shoulders, he heads to the kitchen to start on breakfast.

Later, when Kuroh is rinsing the dishes and Shiro is putting them away to dry at his elbow, Shiro says a "thank you" so quiet it can barely be heard above the running water.

Kuroh turns to glance at Shiro, a dish in hand, his mind left grasping the empty air for the appropriate response.

Turning a plate over in his hands, Shiro says, "It won't be necessary for you to do so again."

Kuroh hands over the last dish to Shiro. Brief warmth when their fingers touch, and when they part, Kuroh feels the edge of Shiro's slightly dampened shirt cuff graze his own exposed wrist.

Kuroh pulls in himself, and moves around Shiro to turn off the faucet, hears the last few drops of water sputter from sink down the drain.

"I understand," Kuroh says, his right hand still loosely curled around the faucet handle.

 

 

"Neko," Kuroh says, when he finds her poking around an unactivated cleaning robot in a storage closet. "Neko."

She looks up at him, her eyes shining bright as gemstones in the dim light of the closet, blue and green.

Kuroh glances down at the robot at his feet for a moment before turning back to Neko.

"Neko, I wanted to ask--" Kuroh pauses. "If Shiro needs anything---"

He sinks to the floor so he can meet Neko's gaze. "You look after him," he says, and it is not a question.

Neko leans into his shoulder, and pats Kuroh's arm. "Neko does her best because Shiro is her friend. So does Kuroh."

 

 

Daylight gradually pulls away from the passing hours. The air sings with a promise of frost in the morning when Kuroh practices with Kotowari, with his auras.

Sometimes he sees Neko slip out of Shiro's room later in the morning, sometimes a girl, sometimes a cat.

Once in a while, Kuroh wakes to find Neko in his room, tucked in like a comma at his side. An old habit from their travels. Kuroh is unexpectedly grateful for this.

When Kuroh passes Shiro's door in the daytime or at night, he does not slow down, does not linger.

He steps unhurriedly past, fixes his eyes straight ahead.

 

 

Kuroh hefts the bags with their new coats in one arm and squints up at the sky as a chill wind nips at his neck and fingers. He shivers slightly at the light sprinkling of rain that creeps beneath his collar.

Neko is latched onto Shiro's right arm. He envies her ease with showing her affection for others, with a hug, with a touch. She still worries, Kuroh knows, that Shiro could slip away from them.

Kuroh tenses at the sound of a shout, the screeching blare of horns.

The next moment, he sees a flash of red at his feet, bright against the dull concrete.

Shiro's parasol.

Kuroh whips up his head in time to see a glowing shape hurl itself across the street.

 

 

 

"Kuroh."

Kotowari freezes two inches away from Shiro's shoulder.

Kuroh sheathes his sword and steps away. Bows his head slightly in Shiro's direction.

"Was there something you wished to tell me?" Kuroh says, one hand unrolling his left sleeve down to his wrist.

"I wanted to apologize," Shiro says. "You are angry at me."

"Should I be?" His own tone is calm. His fingers catch the cuff of his right sleeve and he carefully, carefully pulls it down.

"Kuroh," Shiro says, hesitant and careful, just like their first meeting, and something in Kuroh twists at that.

"You acted bravely," Kuroh says, "when you saved those two girls yesterday."

"Himari and Juri. They promised not to run so carelessly in the future," Shiro says, smiling slightly. "But Kuroh," he continued, eyes watchful, "What does that have to do with--?"

"Please excuse me," Kuroh says, turns away from Shiro and his worried eyes, "I am tired."

"Kuroh."

Kuroh stops.

"You are my King and you call me friend," Kuroh says. "Neko and I are your friends--we always will be, and we are also your Clansmen." His voice is even, unflinching as stone. And then it is not. "When you left to deal with the Red King alone--I should have stayed--with you, with you--and I did not."

Kuroh does not know if Shiro can hear him. When he glances back once, Shiro is standing too far away for Kuroh to see his face.

"I do not want you to leave us again," Kuroh says and walks away.

 

 

 

Two nights later, Kuroh hears a beep in his room while in bed. With a twitch of his fingers, he grabs his phone from his coat resting on a chair, and touches the screen.

The words blaze across Kuroh's eyes in the dark.

_If I was not a King, would you have stayed with me?_

 

 

 

"Yes," Kuroh says.

Shiro is awake, as Kuroh expected him to be.

"Kuroh?" Shiro is sitting statue-still on the bed, a phone in hand.

Kuroh crosses the room slowly, slowly until he stops in front of Shiro. If he reached out a hand, he could feel the warmth of Shiro's shoulder as he did weeks ago.

"King or not, I would have still followed you until the very end. Of this," Kuroh tilts his head down to look at Shiro, close enough now to count the eyelashes shining against the gold of Shiro's eyes, "Of this, I am certain."

"Kuroh," Shiro murmurs. One of his hands reach up to rest lightly on Kuroh's chest, over his heart. "Kuroh. What do you want?"

"I want you to live," Kuroh says. "I want you to be happy." The contact between Shiro's hand and his body is dizzying, electric. "I want--" his voice falters, but he pushes on, dropping the words from his lips, stones rippling water--"I want to kiss you, if you would allow it."

Shiro looks at him, his gaze steady and clear.

"I do," Shiro says.

Kuroh feels the blood thudding through his veins, heating under Shiro's words.  
He tilts his head towards Shiro, leaning in one inch, then two.

There is still a sliver of space between them until impatient fingers tug on Kuroh's collar, pull him down until there is no space between them at all.

 

 

Neko dozes in the sun, petals strewn in her loose hair. Kuroh's jacket is tucked under her arms and Shiro's parasol shades her head. Kuroh brushes a few stray blades of grass off his knee, and then off of Shiro's hair.

Shiro swats lightly at his fingers and Kuroh frowns at him.

"Your head is heavy," Kuroh says. "We should go soon. You promised to meet with the Gold King this afternoon, I checked your messages."

"You're very comfortable," Shiro says, smiling up at him. Kuroh sighs with feigned exasperation, but doesn't move from his position on the grass.

And when Shiro's fingers lightly, purposefully sweep the side of Kuroh's jaw and drift down his neck, Kuroh follows.

Their lips meet like sunlight on water.


End file.
